Teenage Hormones and Werewolves Howlmones
by notbadgatsby
Summary: Love is difficult for everyone. Especially teenagers. Especially teenage werewolves. And especially teenage werewolves who were abused by their father, and now are homeless orphans. And especially if those teenage orphan homeless werewolves are in love with another werewolves best friend. And especially if that best friend has a crush on a banshee who is sleeping with an alpha. :)
1. Chapter 1

"I'm not gay, but..." Stiles begins. I sit there and nod, and I try to say "yeah" or give a quick laugh at the right places to show him I'm listening. But I'm not. Not today. The way he began the story distracted me. Saying "I'm not gay, but" is just a more polite way of saying "no homo" before you go and say something that is totally homo. Normally that wouldn't be a big deal; there's no harm in it. But, recently...recently, I don't know.

It's not like I'm questioning my sexuality; there's no question about my sexuality. There's no "I'm not gay..." because I am gay. I think I'm technically in the closet. If someone asked me if I was gay, I would tell them; however, no one has ever cared enough to ask, really, so no one knows. I don't talk about it. I'm not flamboyant. I'm not a little monster or whatever the in your face gays are calling themselves. And it is almost embarassing to admit that I am still a virgin; I have never even been kissed. The few relationships I have had were "long distance." By long distance, I mean that we met on the internet, and we talked and texted and occasionally used skype for intimacy purposes. I tried a few times to start something more local. That chapter of my dating life should be a how-to book on finding sex-obsessed older men with no real interest in you as a person. That's what I get for using grindr to meet guys, I guess.

Recently, however, I'm not sure what's happening; I'm changing; I think it's the bite. Before I Derek bit me, I was awkward, lonely, abused. Psycologists would would probably say that my "daddy issues" caused my attraction to guys, and my abuse delayed the development of my sexual desires. Then I was bit. At first I didn't notice anything different sexually, because I was distracted by the fact that everything was changing, and my dad was dead, and I was homeless, and I had claws and fur and fangs sometimes, and I was strong, and I was finally unalone; everything changed -

"Isaac!" Stiles says, interrupting my thoughts. "Isaac, that was funny. Come on, you should be laughing. Danny and Ethan doing it doggy style. Come on. You're not offended are you?"

"Stiles," I smile, shaking my head, chuckling a little to help his fragile ego. "I'm -"

_beeeeeeppppp_

_ Saved by the bell_, I mutter under my breath. Lunch is over. I grab my bag, and I head to my class, a free period. Once I'm in class, I'm free to think a little more about what must be my second puberty; my werewolf hormones coming alive. I need to remember to ask Scott or Derek about this. I need to know if it's normal. Everything is so confusing right now.

All I know for sure is that I'm changing, and I don't think all of it is because of the bite. The bite did change me, that is undeniably the case. After the bite, I was powerful and confident, but I was still angry and despite my pack, I was alone.

Scott and I never clicked. I remember after I thought Derek died, I didn't even want to speak with him; I didn't even want to see him. Eventually, those feelings faded. And we became friends. Ish. As much of friends as we could be. I'm even living with Scott and his family, like we are really a pack. And I think becoming a part of that pack changed me, not because of being with Scott. But what I gained by joining.

_Stiles._


	2. Chapter 2

_Stiles_

Stiles is indescribable...he's special, but not the "special" that moms talk about when they try to defend their unusual children. He's awkward, but not the awkward that evokes both mockery and pity. And he's beautiful, but not beautiful like the greek gods or hollywood celebrities. He's special because he's different, passionately weird, and his mouth never stops running with stories as crazy as he is; he's awkward because he's blunt, straightfoward, socially intept and still mysterious in ways which make me think about him, and try to figure him out, as I lay in bed at night; he's beautiful because his eyes have more to say than his never ceasing mouth, because his eyes are as deep as his longing, and because his eyes are only a fraction as deep as his love, his loyalty, and my ever growing obsession with him.

As a werewolf, my senses are heightened. I can hear well; I can hear whispers among the whisps of the winds. I can hear Stiles torment a teacher with his incessant sarcasm from all the way across the school. Then I can hear him laugh. But I can hear more than that; I can hear subtleties. I can hear the emotions behind the words, the pain behind the laugh. I don't know how exactly, or what it even means. It's like he'll laugh, and underneath it all, he'll sigh; or occasionally, cry. To me, that's beautiful. He's been through a lot, like we all have, but he hides it well. He's the one who makes us all laugh; he's the comedic break in the horror of our lives. Then he laughs, and I can hear how he hurts. I can hear his mother's death; I can hear his best friend turning into a werewolf; I can hear his unrequited love for Lydia. I can hear the pain casued by being the second choice in love, lacrosse, in life; I can hear how is friend is stronger than him, more popular than him, smarter than him, luckier in love than him.

_If only he could hear how much more beautiful he was. _

And his smell...He smells perpetually of fear now; maybe he always has. His life, and the lives of his friends, are in constant peril. He has no way to stop it. He's just a high school student with ADHD, and no superpowers. He doesn't have claws, or even bows and arrows or Mountain Ash. He's average. This isn't his fight, but he has dragged himself into it because this is Scott's fight, and because he loves Scott. And he's afraid. He could die any day. Or what he fears even more, Scott or his Dad could die any day.

But, again, what I love is that I would never know. His hands don't shake, and his voice doesn't quiver. He never hides. He treats every battle like it is his battle to win, like this is his story, and he is the knight coming to slay the dragon. Some people treat him like the side kick. But I think he's the hero. He's the one who really saves the day. He saves us from the mundane, from the stress, from the pain. He's our strength and without him, we'd never even be able to fight. He's...Stiles.

But everyone knows dogs can smell fear. I expected that when I got the bite. To be honest, I was looking forward to sensing fear; I wanted to know who was afraid when Isaac the loner freak walked down the hallway. What surprises me the most about Stile's scent is not that I can smell his fear, it is that I can smell his desire, like a pheremones type of thing. Maybe I can smell arousal; maybe I can smell the blood flowing into certain parts of his body. I'm not really sure; biology was never really a strong suit of mine. All I know is that he smells different sometimes. And the smell drives me crazy, like I'm a shark and his scent his blood.

At first I smelled this around Lydia and Stiles. Lydia aroused Stiles, with her self-confident, teasing, know-it-all, bitchy, and "I don't care attitude." She had that effect on most guys. I could smell their desire too, as pungently as I could smell Stiles' desire. But their smell was unappealing. When Stiles was around Lydia, I began to smell him and his combination of puppy love and lust, and I'm sure if I could smell myself, I would have smelled my own arousal.

Eventually, I began to notice that smell in other circumstances. One time I sensed his desire when the alpha twins passed us, but I assumed that he was thinking of Aiden and Lydia. Then I sensed it when I passed him in the halls, and he was talking with Danny and Ethan. I thought that he probably couldn't tell the difference between Ethan and Aiden. And whenever he thought of Aiden, he must have thought of him and Lydia doing it in the supply closet. Then one time, it was just him and me. And I sensed it. I assumed he was just horny; Stiles was always horny; he always talked about playing with himself (and those talks always excite me a little, if I need to be honest.)

But today, at lunch...I sensed it stronger. I even heard his voice quiver and heart beat fast when he began with "I'm not gay, but." What if...what if all those times he was thinking about me? What if he wants me? What if he is thinking about me right now?


	3. Chapter 3

OK, so if you guys haven't noticed, this is my first fanfiction. Please critique in any way you want to. I hope to make each chapter better written and more gripping than the next, and then I'll eventually go back and edit them all...even the tragic mess that was my first chapter :)

The teacher is rambling on about something chemistry related. And I try to focus on his words; I try to forget that the man who used to teach us chemistry was sacrificed by another teacher of mine who ended up being a weird druid magician thing who wanted to kill the werewolves in Beacon Hills. The fight is over now. I think. I mean, I guess I can never be sure; it still scares me. I sense it still scares us all, especially Stiles.

_Stiles. _I smile. I was trying to ignore him for most of the class, even though he is sitting only a few seats over, next to Scott. I'm doing bad enough in Chemistry without Stiles distracting me. I look over to him and Scott, and he's texting. He hides it well, but I can hear his fingers pat against the the screen on his IPhone. I know they're his fingers. Every fingers have different sounds, like sonic finger prints. And his fingers sound delicate, slightly awkward, but sensual. I assume he's had experience with those fingers, at least personally...and I can't think about that during class; I'm getting excited. Stiles looks up from his phone, at me, and he gives me a guilty smile, his pale cheeks showing a hint of a blush.

I feel my phone buzz. I try to sneak my phone out of my back pocket. I'm not as sneaky as Stiles; before I became a werewolf, I never had a reason to text in class. I never had anyone to text.

I look at my phone. The screen is lit displaying one new message from Stiles Stilinsexi. Stiles named himself that in my phone, and I haven't changed it because it makes me smile everytime. "Hey, wolfman, what are we doing this week?"

Spring break starts in about 17 minutes. And most people are leaving town. Scott's "dad" is dragging Scott and his mom somewhere for vacation. Apparently he's some big shot now, and he's trying to shower them with gifts to apologize. Scott's not amused by it. But his mom insisted that they give it a try, that they should give him a chance, so they are. Alison is heading on a supernatural training trip with her dad; Danny, Ethan, Lydia and Aiden are going "camping." I'm really the only one in the pack with no real plans. Me, and Stiles.

"I'm moving this week. You can always help haha," I reply. I'm finally done sleeping on the floor. It took a while, but my dad's will was found. And though he was a piece of shit, he was a piece of shit who apparently had some money. Most of it wasn't his. My mom had left money to me, knowing that my dad would have drunk away anything she left to him. I wasn't supposed to inherit the trust until I turned 18. My dad's death changed everything. I inherited her money early, as well as the little my dad had. I sold the house two weeks ago, for a bargain I think. But then the house was falling apart, and I felt it was haunted. Maybe it was only haunted by the ghosts of my past... I don't know, and to be honest, I don't care. I'm just glad it is off my hand.

Melissa (because she says I can call her Melissa) says I can come stay with them whenever I need to. I swear I saw her tear up a little when I announced that I was moving out. She is my family now. But as much as I love her, I am also ready to have my own place. I guess that is because if I have my own place, I can have people over...maybe people like Stiles.

"Stiles, I do have to throw a garage sale to sell my dad's stuff. Wanna help?"

"well i planned to watch porn and play with myself haha. but why not :)"


	4. Chapter 4

(Sorry for the delay between chapters. But anyways, please comment and critique. Tell me what you think. This is my first actualy FF story, so I need all the hep I can get.)

"Do you even know where he's going to take you?" I ask Scott, as I help him throw clothes into his suitcase. I can tell he delayed packing until the last minute; I guess that's because he wanted to delay the trip for as long as possible.

"They're probably going to Disneyland for a real family vacation" Stiles says sarcastically. He's upset about the whole thing, too. I've always known that Stiles was strong, but he's not strong in a traditional sense; he's not independent or self-reliant. He's dependently strong. He relies on his group, and his group relies on him. But downside, if you want to call it a downside, is that he's the clingy friend. He's attached. He doesn't like to leave his friends; maybe it's a form of separation anxiety. I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say that it is because of how his mom died and his dead wasn't there, and now the idea of being away from his friends terrifies him subconsciously.

And that's irresistible to me. Because I feel like no one has ever really been attached to me. I was always the awkward third friend, on the rare occasions that I actually had two other friends. Even if I had a friend that I was close with, that friend was always closer with someone else. I was never the best friend; I was never the number one choice. Even with my dad. I was an only child, but I felt like was just one son out of five, and I was the son who couldn't do anything right. I was the only kid, but I was the least favorite kid. So the idea that someone could be attached to me, that someone could cling to me, is beautiful; it's desirable; it's sensual, for me.

"But really now that he is all important and rich, he's probably taking you somewhere really nice and cheesy and expensive. I bet he's going to be a cliche and take you guys where they had their honeymoon" Stiles says.

"Actually, yea, we're going to Hawaii which is where they honeymooned. I don't know if he's trying to make this a second honeymoon, but it sure isn't going to work. We have three separate rooms. No honeymoon." Scott finally says breaking his silence.

"Well, you give a whole new definition to honeymoon," Stiles laughs. "Do you get it guys? Honeymoon? Cause he's a werewolf? And werewolfs and moons"

Scott and I exchange looks and shake our heads."Well, Isaac, you have to deal with that for a week. Good luck with him." He laughs, and Stiles laugh, and I'm glad to see them both happier even just for a moment.

"Oh, I'll deal with him alright." I say, hoping that didn't come off as suggestive as it actually was. "I think I'm going to use him as a moving buddy. But if he keeps making puns like that, the dog may have to muzzle the person. What do you think of that?"

Stiles looks at me, groaning slightly. "Yea, and he says if I'm lucky, I can help him go through his dad's grimy stuff and throw a garage sale. Woohoo. This is just going to be a great time. Screw you, Scott." He's trying to sound angry, and upset, and sarcastic , but I know that he's actually somewhat excited. Or, as excited as you can be to spend your spring break helping a werewolf settle down. I only hope he has the same idea of "settling down" as I do.

"SCOTT" Melissa yells from the bottom of the stairs. "Come on, we're already late!"

"Coming!" Scott yells back, slightly smiling, still laying on his bed. Some part of him enjoys making his mom wait. I guess this is her punishment for making him go on the trip. It takes about five more minutes for Scott to roll out of his bed and haul his suitcase down the stairs. Stiles and I follow right behind him. Melissa is already waiting at the door with her three bags piled on the porch. She looks impatient, but not frustrated; I don't know how she can do that; it must be a one of those special powers moms have. Scott grabs one of his mom's bags while still holding his over his shoulder. Stiles and I take this as a cue to grab her other bags and throw them in the trunk of the car.

Melissa follows us out, saying her goodbyes. "Isaac, good luck moving into your apartment, and Stiles, you know you can stay here if you want to, and if your dad doesn't mine. Don't throw any parties! Keep the place clean. Have fun." She winked as she said that last phrase, and I think she directed it at me. Does she know that I want to...? She knows something, that's for sure. I'm definitely not used to the mother intuition thing.

"Scott, say your goodbyes and hop in the car now. Your father is probably at the airport already."

We all exchange "see ya laters" and the slight nods of the head that "bros" give other "bros." Scott gives us a quick eye roll before closing the car door as a sign that he already regrets this decision. We smile and wave at them until they are out of view.

"So, what do we do first," Stiles asks as we walk into the house.

"I'm sure we'll think of something."


	5. Chapter 5

"All that's on TV is freaking Duck Dynasty reruns. Or I don't know if they're reruns, but every episode is the same. The older bearded guy talks about his time in the war, and the youngest bearded guy does something stupid, and the the main bearded guy likes saves the day with all his bearded glory like jesus or something " Stiles complains, flipping through the channel for the thirteenth time.

I love when Stiles is frustrated and bored, and he rants and rambles about whatever crosses his mind. He says everything he wants. He's random, not random as in the person who randomly says "I'M RANDOM, I LIKE TACOS," but random as in his mind is always going a thousand different directions, and those directions fork into three thousand more directions, and his mind has this desire to walk down each and every path. So I love when he rambles, because I get a glimpse into his mind. And his mind is like a maze, except there are no dead ends because every destination is a good destination.

But his openness also confuses me. Because I think it may be an act, like he's using his transparency to hide something. He talks so much, about everything that people normally keep quiet; he talks about playing with himself, watching porn, and being a virgin. He talks about liking things that no other guys his age would admit to liking. High School Musical, Pokemon games on his Nintendo DS, the Stitch plushie that he keeps on the shelf in his bedroom. But despite that, he never talks about important things. He never talks about his mother. He never talks about how he felt when Lydia was the one who held him under the water. He never talks about what it was like to die, and come back, or the darkness that is supposed to follow him like his shadow forever. He opens up so people can see him. But they can't really see him; he's like that russian doll toy, the one that opens and inside is another doll that also opens to reveal another doll...I feel like I understand Stiles more than most, and he's still an enigma. Maybe that's why I'm falling for him.

"Well, duh, they never put anything good on TV on Friday nights. Everyone is supposed to be partying, and like getting drunk or whatever teenagers are supposed to be doing." Stiles smiles. He looks mischevious and that look draws me in. Whatever he's planning, I want in. "What's that look for, Stiles"

"I mean, we don't have to be watching TV on a friday night either. We could be getting drunk; Scott does have a Ping Pong table, if you..." He stops talking as he turns toward the kitchen. "Come on."

I can't say no. I've never drunk with someone else before; I was always alone, and I was binge drinking, and I always ended up either crying in my room or cam jacking with some stranger I met on a chatroom in the internet. And neither of those are moments I'd like to relive. With Stiles, though, I feel it'd be worth the risk. Maybe that's my hormones talking. I don't know. But anyways, werewolves can't really get drunk, can we?... I guess I'll never know unless I try.

I follow him to the kitchen, and from the kitchen down the stairs into the basement. Even though I lived here for a short while, I never made it to the basement. I never spent too much of my free time in the house. I guess I never had free time; normally, I was with Derek or Scott training, planning how to stay alive. Stiles leads the way down the stairs, flicking on the light at the bottom. The room is dormlike. I assume that Stiles and Scott designed this place to be their little men caves. There is a mini fridge, and a dartboard, and a decent sized TV hanging on one wall. The couch looks worn, and deflated, covered both in soda stains and pillows thrown lazily on the cushions. But it looks homey and comfortable. I can picture laying there with Stiles in my arms, playing Mario Kart on their beat up Nintendo 64. Then I see the table, the ping pong table; or i guess, the soon to be beer pong table.

"Well, this is it," Stiles says, running his hand across the side of the table in such a naively sensual way that I can't help but imagine the other things that could be done on that table. That would have to wait though.

"So...where's the beer?" I ask as Stiles grabs a pack of blue Solo cups out of a cabinet in the corner of the room.

"I would think with your super werewolf sense, you could figure out that they would be in the fridge." I open the minifridge. Two bottles of red hook are in the shelf on the fridge door, along with four cans of some cheap beer that I had never even heard of before, and I've heard of most cheap beers, because my dad was a cheap alcoholic. There are a few other random drinks in the fridge too; a bottle of wine, a few cans of RedBull, some cokes and a Gatorade. I grab the beers out of the fridge and haul them to the table.

"Do we even have enough? I mean, I doubt we could even get buzzed with this cheap stuff." I ask, and I see Stiles smile, and I'm not sure I like what that smile means.

"Oh, we never just use beer. That's so boring. Grab that wine bottle, and I'll grab the bit of vodka we have stashed somewhere in here. We'll fill the cups randomly; not every cup is the same. It's like roulette. It's more exciting."


End file.
